


A Mother's Love

by FictionPenned



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Lily Evans Potter Lives, POV Lily Evans Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: A mother’s love is the most powerful magic of all.Lily fights to remember this on the days when parenting is at its most difficult, on the days when she wishes that James was still alive and that the hole in her heart was just a little bit smaller, or that there was an easier way to staunch the leak. Grief is a troublesome thing. It strikes in the moments when she least expects it, filling the air and her lungs with a darkness so pervasive and stifling that she feels as though she can no longer breathe. It strikes when she sees James in the face of her young son. It strikes when Sirius and Remus knock on her door — old friends come to call. It strikes on every Halloween, when her thoughts are filled with searing green light and the impenetrable heat of fire instead of muggle children in masks ringing the bell and asking for treats.It is only Harry that keeps her grounded. Only Harry that reminds her that there is hope and goodness in this world. Only Harry that chases the grief away when it is at its most vicious.Written for Fic In A Box 2020
Relationships: Harry Potter & Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Fic In A Box





	A Mother's Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hadrian_Pendragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadrian_Pendragons/gifts).



A mother’s love is the most powerful magic of all.

Lily fights to remember this on the days when parenting is at its most difficult, on the days when she wishes that James was still alive and that the hole in her heart was just a little bit smaller, or that there was an easier way to staunch the leak. Grief is a troublesome thing. It strikes in the moments when she least expects it, filling the air and her lungs with a darkness so pervasive and stifling that she feels as though she can no longer breathe. It strikes when she sees James in the face of her young son. It strikes when Sirius and Remus knock on her door — old friends come to call. It strikes on every Halloween, when her thoughts are filled with searing green light and the impenetrable heat of fire instead of muggle children in masks ringing the bell and asking for treats.

It is only Harry that keeps her grounded.

Only Harry that reminds her that there is hope and goodness in this world.

Only Harry that chases the grief away when it is at its most vicious.

He has her eyes, but his hair and his spirit is much like his father’s. He is thrilled whenever he gets his hands on a toy broom, delighted whenever he finds a new way to make mischief, bad tempered when he finds himself faced with some new obstacle.

He is not a perfect child, but he is her child, and she loves him with her entire heart.

A petty part of her would like to think that she loves him better than her sister and her dreadful bore of a brother-in-law love their child, who has blossomed into a spoiled, ungrateful, and belligerent thing. She and Harry visit them on holidays, speaking very little of magic, as is Petunia’s want, but at the end of the meals, she grasps Harry tightly in the award-winning lawn and they apparate back to their own home, where magic might be allowed to flow freely.

Their lives are filled with it.

It brightens her poor cooking. It keeps the house clean. It mends Harry’s glasses on the many, many occasions when he manages to break them.

Most importantly, however, it keeps them safe.

Their home is lined with dozens and dozens of protection spells. Albus stops by every couple of months to refresh them and patch up any holes and oversights. At first, Lily insisted that she could cast the spells herself, but Albus had looked down at her through his half-moon glasses and reminded her that should He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named regain his power, only the strongest spells cast by the strongest witches and wizards might be able to withstand the force of his rage. Rather begrudgingly, Lily allows it, but in secret, she studies the spells and masters them herself, just in case they are ever needed. Additionally, a rotating cast of Order members are posted in the rental across the street from her, watching for any possible threats.

She always invites them over, serves them her mediocre tea, and settles down for a long chat about news and updates and idle gossip. Harry invariably hovers somewhere around the room, listening closely, ears peeled for interesting information. Sometimes, he asks impertinent questions, and the Order members almost always oblige. There are a couple of subjects that are decidedly off-limits — talk of prophecies and Chosen Ones and the Department of Mysteries — but those things rarely come up in casual conversation.

Few people know of Trelawney’s prediction, and even fewer speak of it.

When it comes time to take Harry shopping for his school supplies, she is careful to steer clear of anyone who has previously been affiliated with the Death Eaters. Surprising numbers of them had been pardoned and allowed to reenter the ranks of society, claiming Imperious Curses and other mind control. Lily does not trust them. The rest of the Order does not trust them either.

She shuffles Harry from store to store in turn, allowing him time to marvel at the shops’ more bizarre offerings. Lurking behind bookshelves and seated at tables are Order members doing their best to appear casual, even while their eyes carefully track the redheaded witch and her raven-haired son and their hands hover close to their carefully stowed wands.

It is only when they have found everything on the list — and a snowy-white owl, for luck — that they return home.

There is still a couple of days before she has to wave goodbye to Harry on Platform 9¾, but Lily finds herself filled with slowly mounting dread. She and Harry have scarcely spent time apart since he was born, and though she knows that he will likely be too busy, too excited to miss her, she will miss him greatly. She fills these last couple of days with his favorite foods and activities, stocking up time and memories to sustain her until he comes home for Christmas.

“Remember to write,” she reminds him as he lets go of her hand on the busy platform.

“I will,” he says, running an impatient hand through his hair the way that James used to.

Her heart aches, and it is all she can do to keep her worries to a simple “Be safe.”

“Bye, Mum.”

She runs along the side of the train as it pulls out of the station, waving at him through the window until he disappears from view, and she wipes tears from the face with the end of her sleeve as she circles back to leave.

“He’ll be fine. First one’s always the hardest,” a familiar voice says behind her. “Do you need a drink, dearie?”

Lily turns, finding herself face-to-face with the kind smile of Molly Weasley.

She nods, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she fights to hold back sobs.

“Come on. I’ll help you through the worst of it,” Molly says as she drapes and arm over Lily’s shoulder, keeping her close.

The shared drink becomes their tradition, both when they send their children to school and when they get owls bearing details of their troubles.

It does not make the hole in her heart any smaller, but it makes it easier to let go. Makes it easier to love Harry from a distance. Makes it easier to accept that her son is growing up.

Lily does, however, cry when Harry finally comes home.

And on every return since.

Just as she cries when he falls into her arms at the end of a war, tired and bloody and covered in dirt and muck and soot.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” she says as she runs her fingers through his hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Harry cries, too.

And what a sight they are — mother and son, sobbing in the middle of a battlefield, grasping onto each other, unwilling to let go.


End file.
